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| <<<>>> |
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Ever |
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| Created by Decius at
| [+ favourites]
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Receiving his e-mails and reading his tortured words as he aims them directly at my heart has never been such a hard task for me to swallow.
He knows me, my inner workings, and pummels me with his poetic verse, attacking the very heart I once yearned to be held by him.
If only he would have held that heart, for it pounced within my frame only for him, and no one else.
I see his eyes, big, brown, shrouded in the love I know he has for me. Yet I cannot accept his words. All I can do is visualize him type these.
Sitting, with every line and with every word, pausing, thinking of me, thinking of my hair and my skin, thinking of my face.
I cannot accept his words. Let him write, let him cry. He will cry his last tear, and know I have broken free.
I will love the time we had for all time to come, but the event has arrived, whence I must pass this stage of my life, and proceed on.
Even if he wishes to cling to a past that will never repeat itself. My poor little boy. I have cried for you. Now you must cry for you.
A numbness has engulfed me, and I enjoy it. Perhaps you will join me someday, my love. Then you will know what it is to be hurt.
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| Created by Decius at
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